


The Dressing Room

by starseed



Category: Hanson (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Affairs, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger, Anxiety, Apologies, Arrogance, Beginnings, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Claustrophobia, Come Swallowing, Control, Desire, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Dressing Room Sex, Drug Use, Elevator Sex, First Time, Food Sex, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Male Slash, Marijuana, Masturbation, Morning Sex, Multi, Oral Sex, POV First Person, POV Multiple, Rough Sex, Seduction, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Tapes, Shower Sex, Sibling Incest, Slash, Teasing, Trapped In Elevator, encounters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 06:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16192379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseed/pseuds/starseed
Summary: “When you put clothes on, you immediately put a character on. Clothes are adjectives, they are indicators. When you don't have any clothes on, it's just you, raw, and you can't hide.” - Padma Lakshmi.





	1. The Dressing Room

**Author's Note:**

> *This story will be told from both Zac and Taylor's POVs, as indicated by the character's name in bold at the start of each chapter.

**Zac**

“Do these pants make my butt look fat?” 

Taylor stepped out of the dressing room and squinted into the wide, full-length mirror on the wall.

I rolled my eyes up at him from my seat on the small leather couch. My older brother could be such a _girl_ sometimes. In fact, he knew how to look the part too, with that subtle sway of his hips and his heart-shaped lips curved into a convincing little pout.

“I’ll take that as a yes…” he frowned, adjusting the skintight jeans around his slender frame so that they appeared even tighter somehow.

He was standing directly in front of me, making it very difficult for me to ignore the way the jeans hugged that perfect ass he was so concerned about, or the way they accented that ever-present bulge between his thighs that I was trying so hard not to blatantly stare at. I then started envisioning how he looked beneath his clothes, his creamy skin flushing an endearing shade of pink as I traced my fingers gently across his…

 _No! Stop!_ I scolded myself silently. 

It had only happened once, after that stupid party he insisted on dragging me to a few weeks back. I was high, he was drunk, and we hadn’t mentioned it ever since. We’d both written it off as a foolish mistake made only because we weren’t in our right minds, never to be talked about or revisited.

But that didn’t stop me from _thinking_ about how hot he looked with his head bobbing up and down as he swallowed every inch of my cock.

Fuck. 

Why had I agreed to go shopping with Taylor? This insane torture wasn’t worth the meal at Johnny Rockets that he’d promised me. At the rate we were going, the mall would close before we even got to the damn restaurant, anyway. I’d somehow forgotten how long it took Taylor to decide on anything—especially when it came to his precious wardrobe.

“They look fine,” I said, my voice thick with exasperation as I waved my hand toward the dressing room so he’d get the hint and hurry up.

He scowled again, but this time the frown was directed at me and not his godforsaken jeans. Nonetheless, he reluctantly turned around and went back into the dressing room to change.

Several minutes passed, and there was still no sign of Taylor. I rolled my eyes again as I wondered what was taking so long, picturing him striking various poses as he modeled for no one but himself in front of the mirror. Vanity was just one of his many colorful personality traits.

“Can you come over here and help me?” He looked and sounded sheepish as he peeked his head out from behind the door.

_Uh, what?_

Curiosity getting the best of me, I joined him in the cramped dressing room to find that he was stuck—yes, _stuck_ —in the jeans he’d tried on. The skin around his waistband was red and irritated, indicating that he really had been fighting like hell to get them off to no avail.

Being the heartless asshole that I was, I couldn’t help but laugh. I didn’t even bother holding back the loud, obnoxious chortles as I took in the frustrated, pathetic look on his face.

“It’s not funny,” he said, glaring at me with his hands on his hips.

“Oh, it _so_ is,“ I replied, still doubling over in a fit of wild hysterics. “Anyway, you managed to get yourself into those pants somehow. You can find your own way out.”

“Zac, please help,” he pleaded, grabbing my wrist when he saw that I was about to turn around and leave. “They’re cutting off my circulation…”

I sighed and shook my head as my laughter finally subsided. 

“What the hell am I supposed to do about it?” I asked.

“Just pull as hard as you can,” he instructed.

Averting my eyes from the mirror to avoid catching sight of how ridiculous we both looked, I dropped to my knees and tugged on his pants with force until they finally began to make their excruciating descent down his long legs. But since they were skinny jeans and probably weren’t meant to be worn by a guy his size in the first place, they got caught on the muscles in his calves and I had to continue working them down at a frustratingly slow pace until they were removed completely. 

It was then that I made the crucial mistake of looking up, and I was met with the sight of my older brother clad in only a pair of boxers, his erection struggling to break free from the paper-thin material.

“There,” I replied flatly as I stood up, trying to sound as aloof as possible although his amazing, toned, half-naked body was threatening to undo me. “You owe me one for that.”

“Really?” Taylor cocked his head at me, a playful grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “Because I was actually under the impression that _you_ owed _me_ …”

My entire body froze as he closed the space between us with what I can only describe as a seductive look in his eyes. My senses were suddenly crowded by the strangely arousing smell of shampoo mixed with the cologne he always wore.

He didn’t have to spell it out—I knew what he meant. He was referring to the surprisingly incredible blowjob he’d given me after that stupid fucking party. He’d wasted no time in going down on me that night, and he got me off so effortlessly that I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t his first time. 

“I mean, it’s only fair,” he breathed, now so close that I could feel his hardness as he rubbed himself against my jeans. “Tit for tat, you know?”

My eyes nearly popped out of my head when he tugged his boxers down with a barely perceptible flick of his wrist. His dick was standing at full attention now, practically begging for me to suck on it.

“Come on,” he whispered, his lips grazing across my neck. “You know you want to…”

I blinked once, twice, three times, unable to process the scene unfolding right before my disbelieving eyes. 

Taylor was joking. He had to be. There was no possible way he was coming onto me—not while sober, anyway. The only reason anything ever happened between us in the first place was that we were too fucked up to realize what we were doing. Had _I_ been thinking clearly, I certainly wouldn’t have let him push me down onto the bed that night and suck me until I reached a mindblowing orgasm. 

…Right? _Right_?

The tingling heat spreading quickly through my body indicated otherwise. I had the sudden urge to fall to my knees, take him in my mouth, and make him moan until he came. My legs buckled slightly at the thought of his head thrown back in ecstasy, his fingers weaving through my hair as he urged me to take him all the way.

But no… No! 

Taylor was my _brother_. I refused to believe that his lips were on my neck, that he was panting heavily into my ear while he pressed his erection against me—and worst of all, that my body was responding to the things he was doing.

What happened to our innocent afternoon of shopping, burgers, and milkshakes?

“Put your pants back on,” I hissed. “You’re being crazy.”

“Am I?” he asked in a low, steady voice, stopping my hand during its stealthy journey toward the door’s shaky latch. “Are you saying that you don’t want me in your mouth right now? That you don’t want to fuck me?”

I bit back a groan. Taylor’s voice was a turn-on in and of itself, but the dirty words he’d just uttered literally made me weak.

But no… I didn’t want those things. I couldn’t have those things, no matter how amazing he looked and sounded. I shifted my gaze away from him then, unwilling to meet his eyes and face the fire within them.

“Because I think you do,” he countered. “Look at you—you’re so hard for me right now.”

I didn’t have to glance down to see what he was talking about. I could _feel_ my erection pressing against my jeans, growing larger and more painful with each strangely heated moment that passed between us.

“Just get dressed, Taylor. I’ll meet you outside,” I said with as much authority as I could manage, raising my hand to the lock once again because I sure as hell was going to leave this time.

“If you don’t get those lips around my cock right now,” Taylor growled in a warning tone, grabbing my wrist and forcing it against the wall, “then I’m going to scream at the top of my lungs about the amazing ass-fucking you’re giving me right here in the dressing room, and I can guarantee that everyone in the whole store will be able to hear me.”

I froze. I didn’t doubt him for a second. My brother had a flair for the dramatic, especially when he didn’t get his way. And man, could he be loud when he wanted to be.

“You’re out of your goddamn mind,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“Just shut up and suck me.”

I was stuck in a dazed stupor as his hands pushed down on my shoulders until I was once again kneeling on the floor. Hating myself, but hating him even more for the fact that he looked so delicious standing at attention right in front of me. 

Ignoring the blaring voice of my conscience, I closed my eyes and lowered my mouth around him.

“Oh yeah,” he groaned in a throaty whisper as he immediately started bucking his hips against me.

Damn, just how badly did he want this?

“More,” he pleaded, his strong hand holding my head in place while he continued to thrust.

Apparently, he wanted it pretty badly. He soon let go of my hair and trailed his hands across his smooth, tanned chest, releasing a symphony of moans that ranged in volume and intensity.

“Shh,” I cautioned around his throbbing length, although secretly I loved how vocal he was being. 

Still, I refused to admit that I wanted this—any of it—so I kept going in the hopes that he’d get off quickly and finally allow me to leave. Fuck the stupid dinner he’d promised me. I’d walk home if I had to. There was no way I was willing to spend another minute around him after this.

“God, Zac…”

His head fell back, the pale skin of his neck exposed as the thrusting of his hips increased. When his hand grazed the back of my head again before venturing even lower, my eyes widened in surprise. He was fingering himself and loving every second of it, his pleasure more than evident from his glazed eyes and labored breaths as his fingers found a satisfying rhythm. Pumping in and out of himself without the slightest shred of modesty.

A moan fell from my mouth despite my anger and frustration. He was just so fucking _hot_. 

Without even giving myself time to process my conflicted thoughts, I opened up my throat and let him all the way in, swallowing much more than I’d ever planned on, enjoying the taste and the feeling more than I ever could have dreamed. Then I released him, licking all the way down his amazingly erect shaft before repeating the process until he was weak and trembling against me. 

“I wish you were inside of me right now,” he admitted shakily right before he came.

I didn’t respond as I swallowed every single bittersweet drop. When he was done, his chest heaving, his eyelids fluttering as if he were dreaming, I stood up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I was afraid to look at him, terrified to find a similar knot of confusion and desire inside of him, so my gaze remained glued to the carpet as I made my way toward the door.

“Maybe next time,” I replied flatly before opening the latch and walking out of the dressing room without looking back.


	2. The Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“When you put clothes on, you immediately put a character on. Clothes are adjectives, they are indicators. When you don't have any clothes on, it's just you, raw, and you can't hide.” - Padma Lakshmi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is from Zac's POV.

**Zac**

I slammed the door of my closet with a frustrated sigh. I didn’t have a single decent outfit to wear on my fancy date that night.

Why had I offered to take Lisa to that outrageously expensive Italian restaurant downtown, anyway? Oh, that’s right. I wanted to convince her that I was worth having sex with. 

Lately, getting laid was all I’d been able to think about.

I told myself this was because it was all any healthy male thought about, and not because it was actually the image of my older brother’s naked body running through my mind and making me unbearably aroused, but that was a big fat lie. Ever since our encounter in the dressing room, I’d been avoiding Taylor at all costs. It was hard not to cross paths with someone you not only lived with, but worked with as well, but thankfully we had a big house and our band was currently taking a break from recording. On the rare occasion when we saw each other in passing, I quickly averted my eyes from his intense gaze that seemed drawn to me at all times.

I knew that he was trying to break me, but I refused to be broken. I wouldn’t, I _couldn’t_ give in to these desires and feelings.

So I threw myself into pursuing Lisa instead.

I’d met her at a bar a few nights ago, and something about her drove me crazy. She reminded me a lot of Taylor with the sexy way she pursed her lips and swayed her slender hips. She’d given me a decent blowjob in my car the night we first met—although her talents in that department weren’t nearly as good as Taylor’s—so I knew that she was easy. I had a feeling that after a bottle or two of wine at dinner, she’d provide me with the release I was so desperately seeking.

Since I was taking her to one of the more upscale restaurants in Tulsa, I wanted to dress to impress, but my wardrobe was severely lacking. Finally, after exhausting my options, I had no choice but to raid Taylor’s closet for something suitable to wear.

He’d left for the coffeehouse down the street a little while ago and probably wouldn’t be home for at least an hour (he had a tendency to stop and chat with everyone he saw, even on what was meant to be a quick afternoon coffee run). Surely, that would give me enough time to sneak into his room, grab an outfit, and sneak back out before he returned.

I stealthily made my way down the hallway to his bedroom. When I stepped into his spacious walk-in closet, I couldn’t help but smirk. My brother was such a neat freak. His clothing collection was organized by colors and patterns, and he more than likely owned more red and pink shirts than most women out there.

I sifted through the hangers of assorted dress shirts and polos until a blue button-down with three-quarter sleeves caught my eye. Taylor wore that particular shirt frequently, and it always made his chest and arms look incredible.

Just as I was reaching for it, his bedroom door swung open. I swallowed a panicked gasp and retreated deeper into the large closet, ducking beneath the rack of shirts as quietly as I could manage. I prayed that he’d come into his room to drop something off and leave again, giving me a chance to flee, but when I heard the lock click and saw him fall onto his bed with a little sigh, I knew that he was there to stay.

I groaned inwardly as I watched him through the curtain of flimsy materials that did little to obscure my view of the room. He’d stripped down to just a pair of tight black boxers, his lean body draped languidly across the covers.

I craned my neck to see his face, and when I found that his eyes were closed, I breathed in a silent sigh of relief. Maybe he was planning on taking a nap. If he fell asleep, then I could make my escape and avoid another inevitably awkward encounter.

But then, his fingers crept beneath his boxers, pushing away the soft fabric until the entire length of his fully erect cock was visible.

He wasn't just attractive. He was _beautiful_.

My mouth nearly watered at the sight of his shaft standing regally beneath his toned chest and stomach. I still remembered what it was like to taste him, what it was like to dig my fingernails into his thighs as he quivered and moaned while he came. Those memories, coupled with the secret glimpses I had of him, made my pants grow unbearably tight as I shifted my position on the floor.

“Mmm… yeah,” he breathed, his fingers swirling around the head of his dick before trailing down his length in a slow, tantalizing fashion.

His free hand reached up and found his nipples. He flicked and tugged at them with short, rapid breaths that indicated just how turned on he was. Strands of dark blonde hair were trying to hide his eyes, but I saw that they were open now, that he was just as focused on the lower half of his body as I was. The hand around his cock tightened and adopted a faster rhythm, his hips arching off of the bed ever so slightly as he continued to play with his nipples and pump himself.

“Fuck,” he moaned loudly, his face lined with evident pleasure.

I echoed his moan before I could stop myself, the sound tumbling out of my mouth like an automatic response to his voice, laced with such thick desire.

His body froze on the bed, and I was rendered immobile too, fear sparking my every nerve like ice water. I finally escaped the keen grip of terror long enough to scoot backward until my body connected with the wall of the closet. 

But it was too late to hide. 

His eyes had already traveled the length of the room and captured mine, a sly grin teasing the corners of his parted lips.

“You really like what you see, don’t you?”

I was paralyzed, stuck in my shameful position on the floor of Taylor’s closet, wishing there was a way to disappear not only from his bedroom, but from the planet altogether.

I was furious with myself for letting him get to me. He was my brother, after all; I should be used to his ways by now. He shouldn’t have the ability to disarm me like this. But in his presence, my defense mechanisms so often fell away, exposing truths I didn’t even have the courage to face.

“You don’t have to hide,” he said, finally resuming the deliberate stroking motions of his hand along his dick. “I can already see how turned on you are.”

My heart was racing, my face was burning, and my entire body felt lit from within. Yet despite how badly I wanted to run from the room, I couldn’t, nor could I look away. 

There was something so compelling about the sight of his body on the bed, the image of his tousled hair, flushed cheeks, and slightly parted legs merely a prelude of what was to come.

“I think you should come here and take over for me. We both know you want to,” he spoke in a low voice, his eyes never once straying from mine as he continued to pump himself, his bare chest rising and falling in an obvious show of pleasure.

As much as I would have loved to prove him wrong, the lust that was clouding my vision and the growing bulge in my jeans indicated otherwise.

God, I hated it when he was right.

It was clear that Taylor had me right where he wanted me, that I was trapped and at his mercy even though he made no attempt to rise from the bed and actively pursue me. He believed that I would eventually give into him, that I’d lose the battle with my conscience and succumb to him.

And he was right again—that was exactly what I did.

I soon found myself at the edge of the bed, a careful distance placed between us, but not nearly enough to keep him away. He moved several inches closer to me, leaning over to guide my hand around his length, and my breath caught in my throat at the sudden contact. His eyelids fluttered closed as my hand grazed his throbbing cock, like he was settling into a luxuriously warm bath, basking in feelings he’d been expecting all along.

But no. _No._

I’d played this role too many times for my liking, relinquishing my control to him. He’d been backing me into corners for as long as I could remember and taking what he wanted, namely my pride and what was left of my sanity.

Now, it was my turn.

I pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, effectively pinning him down (not that he’d put up much or any of a fight). His eyes widened in shock just before my lips collided swiftly with his neck, my teeth leaving tiny deliberate perforations in his unbearably soft, taut skin. His cock stood rigidly against my jean-clad thigh, twitching as he squirmed beneath my sudden attack.

“Mmm, fuck,” he growled, his blue eyes burning like blazing embers in a fire.

Apparently, he liked it rough, but that came as no surprise.

When it came right down to it, Taylor was a raw, sexual being; he’d always been that way. He exuded passion in nearly everything he did, but it was clear that he reserved most of his unbridled energy for either the stage or the bedroom. Up until then, I had only imagined the various scenes that took place behind his closed door when he brought different people home at all hours of the night and had his way with them.

But I had a feeling that I was about to find out. 

The heat within him radiated outward and I trembled, although I tried like hell not to let it touch me. Desperate to give my unsteady hands something to do, I unbuttoned my jeans, sliding them down and off until they’d joined his at the foot of the bed.

He tugged at the bottom of my t-shirt then, obviously wanting my upper half to be as bare as my lower half had recently become, but I shook my head forcefully. That was a line I refused to cross. There was a certain vulnerability equated with nakedness, and I was tired of being vulnerable, of being so damn easy to read.

I couldn’t quite believe what I was about to do, but I knew it was something I’d wanted for much longer than I ever could admit, to him or to myself.

“Look at how worked up you are,” he said, his fingers moving from my shirt to the thin material of my boxers, brushing neatly against my erection.

I closed my eyes and tried to swallow the moans rising from deep within my chest, but then, just like that, I decided to stop fighting it. All of it—the guilt, the anger, the dangerous pent-up desire.

What did it matter if I was in control or not? When it came to messing around with your own brother, what did _any_ of it matter?

So I let him push my boxers down and take me firmly in his hand, stroking me just like he’d touched himself. His fingers danced along my skin with expert precision, knowing exactly how to make my head spin. Taylor was nothing if not an absolute perfectionist.

The blood boiling in my veins was hotter and louder than anything I’d ever felt, but there was no stopping now. I was so hard, harder than I’d possibly ever been, and through the haze, I was finding it difficult to breathe. My hands drifted up his torso and across his chest, covering his nipples which were red and still semi-erect from his earlier assault.

As I kneaded and twisted them between my fingers, he hissed and grabbed onto my thigh with his free hand.

“I want your cock, Zac,” he said, staring straight into my eyes. “I want it now.”

I pulled my eyes away from the burning intensity of his gaze and tried to calm my racing heart, but it was a pointless effort. I wanted him just as badly as he wanted me, and we both knew it.

I was still suspended above him, lost in my conflicted thoughts, when he slowly worked my shirt up my stomach and chest until I had no choice but to remove it. He smiled as the garment fell to the floor, a signal of yet another victory.

I was now completely exposed, naked in every possible way.

Taylor must have interpreted the thick silence between us as an affirmation of my arousal, because he reached into the top drawer of his bedside table and withdrew a small bottle. I watched him pour some liquid into his palm and swirl his fingers deliberately around in it before grabbing my cock again. I sucked in a sharp breath and almost collapsed on top of him, the contrast between the cool lubricant and his warm, strong hand nearly powerful enough to knock the wind out of me.

He smirked and guided my own hand toward my length, replacing his. He then let his hand fall lower and lower until it reached his entrance. Two fingers slid effortlessly inside of him, and my cock throbbed against my hand at the sight of them disappearing all the way in.

He was just as hard as I was, but his focus wasn’t on himself. His eyes were zeroed in on my growing erection, his body moving in tune to my heavy, labored breaths.

“Fuck me,” he moaned, his raspy voice sending tremors all the way through me, making my toes curl.

“Turn around,” I ordered. 

The firm decisiveness in my voice made me feel much stronger and more in control than I actually was in that moment. But if I didn’t at least pretend to know what I was doing, what I _needed_ to do, then I’d surely fall apart, and I couldn’t stand to let Taylor watch me lose again.

Not when it came to this.

He obeyed instantly, palms against the bed, showing me his perfect ass. His entire body was a work of flawless precision, like it had been sculpted to fit some sort of divine vision. 

And I was suddenly struck with the urge to disrupt that seamless perfection.

With one hand still on my aching cock, I reached out and smacked his ass with the other. The sound startled us both at first, and my eyes widened when I saw how immediately his creamy skin turned red from the impact. But the sight of the blemish turned me on more than anything else, so I did it again.

He growled and bucked his hips, his reaction earning him another slap.

“Zac, fuck,” he hissed. “Fill me up with your cock— _now_.”

The sound of my name along with his breathless command made me lose any shred of restraint that I had left. I teased his opening with the head of my dick while my fingers curved along the fiery imprints that had bloomed and spread. And then I pushed myself inside of him until he’d devoured every inch. He fit me so snugly, so tightly, that my eyes watered with absolute, unparalleled pleasure.

Sex had never felt like this before—not ever.

I stayed still inside of him, but only for a moment, a haze thrown across my vision so that sight fell secondary to this amazing thrill of feeling. When I began to thrust, Taylor arched his back and let out an animalistic cry. It rang through the room, ricocheted off the walls, and entered me with force, pulling a low moan from my throat to accompany it. 

I usually had no problem setting an even pace. I was a drummer, after all; rhythm was my forte. But this felt so good, so wrong, so fucking overwhelming that I let go of all of my learned techniques and turned myself over to desperate, blinding lust. 

“Oh my god,” I called out as I drove into him, his walls contracting frantically around me whenever I hit that perfect spot.

My fingernails dug into his slender hips, yanking his ass even closer to me although we were already practically fused together as one.

“Touch me,” he groaned, strands of hair falling into his face as he moved to meet my thrusts.

His cock pulsed and thickened the moment my hand tightened around it. I could feel the slick wetness from the tip on my fingers, and I coated his shaft with it without pausing my heated motions. His posture loosened as I pumped him, stopping every now and then to tease his slit.

“I’m so fucking close,” he warned.

 _So am I_ , I thought. 

I slammed into him, desperate for relief, my body pushing his down onto the mattress. My stomach muscles quivered and I closed my eyes, wanting it to end and last forever.

“Taylor,” I cried, his name the only word my brain could think of, the only sound my lips could form. 

“Come inside of me,” he said, his semen trickling down my hand and onto the quilt as he trembled with his own release. 

I bit down on my lip and whimpered as I came. The haze lifted, bright spots of color exploding all around me like little electric fireworks. There was no barrier between us, our skin and our sweat were the same, and I clung onto his waist with a fervor that surprised me. After one last gentle post-climactic thrust, I slowly pulled out of him and fell onto my back beside him.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so complete and yet so empty.

Taylor rolled onto his back as well, his breathing much more regular than it had been before. He ran his fingers lazily through his hair and shifted his eyes to mine, the confident smirk on his face informing me that although he was the one who had just gotten fucked, he’d had the upper hand all along. 

“I’m gonna jump in the shower,” he announced. “Care to join me?”


	3. The Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“When you put clothes on, you immediately put a character on. Clothes are adjectives, they are indicators. When you don't have any clothes on, it's just you, raw, and you can't hide.” - Padma Lakshmi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is from Zac's POV.

**Zac**

I didn’t join Taylor in the shower that day. Or the next day. Or even the day that followed. In fact, although we lived in the same house, an entire week passed by and I barely saw my brother. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t like being around him. The problem was that I enjoyed it far too much—more than I believed was right or healthy—and he knew it.

So rather than risk falling into his knowing blue eyes that were always drenched in mischief and raw sex appeal, I spent most of my nights with Lisa, our bodies tangled in the backseat of my car or between her sheets as we lost ourselves to our desires until the early morning hours. I ignored the fact that while I’d seen all of her, I barely knew her; that she didn’t satisfy me. Being inside of her was nothing compared to what it had been like with Taylor. Then again, I truly believed that I could search to the ends of the earth and never find anything that matched that height of passion, that carnal bliss, that amazing heat.

But I knew that I couldn’t avoid him forever. After all, we shared a bathroom, and it was inevitable that our paths would cross eventually.

“Morning,” he greeted in his usual raspy voice, the mere sound of it sending a river of unwanted chills down my spine.

I was bent over the sink, having just spit out a generous mouthful of toothpaste, but even if I hadn’t been otherwise occupied, I doubt I could have responded. The sight of Taylor in nothing but a thin, blue towel left me speechless. I knew that I was staring, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his well-defined arms, couldn’t stop myself from studying the dark trail of hair that began below his navel and disappeared beneath the square of material that barely covered him.

My cock twitched in my boxers and I pressed my body more tightly against the sink, not wanting him to see the effect he had on me. I could feel my cheeks burning, but worse was the fire that was spreading inside of me. The flames sizzled through my bloodstream, awakening feelings that I wanted to extinguish forever.

But the longing only grew stronger and more feverish when I heard the soft thud of the towel as it landed on the floor. He was naked right behind me, and I became fully erect to that image, even though my eyes were still trained on the trails of peppermint-tinged water trickling down the drain.

The sound of the shower running cut into my thoughts, spelling out my options. I could either leave the room and run away like I’d been doing for the last several days, or I could finally give into the lust that had effectively cemented itself into every single one of my senses.

I chose the latter.

I entered the cramped, tiled sanctuary silently.

His eyes were closed, thick fingers running through his long hair which had grown several shades darker thanks to the water. His dick stood majestically between us, just waiting to be touched or licked or fucked, but I did none of those things. Instead, I wrapped my hand around my own length and pumped myself to the steady rhythm of the water that fell down all around us.

When he opened his eyes, satisfaction danced in their cloudy depths. It was clear he’d been expecting this, although I hadn’t planned it. His arrogance made me want to slap him, made me want to fuck him senseless. I loved him as much as I hated him, desire and anger joining forces and twisting inside of me, building to a keening crescendo.

My hands on his waist as I roughly spun him around so that he was pressed against the crisscrossed tile, however, was something he hadn’t been prepared for. Taylor may have been taller than me, and more beautiful in every way, but I was stronger, and I held him in place with ease as my lips grazed his earlobe.

“What do you want, Taylor?” I murmured, my hand once again falling to caress my cock. “Do you want me inside of you?”

“God yes,” he panted in a low voice, practically trembling against me. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

My erection swelled right along with my ego as I quickened the pace of my stroking. He arched his back toward me then, proving just how much he wanted it, but I wasn’t about to give in so easily. No—for once, I was going to do exactly what I wanted and not give a shit about him.

For once, _I_ was going to have the upper hand.

I teased his opening with the head of my dick, letting my free hand drift across his chest. I twisted his nipple sharply and without warning, causing his body to tense and then collapse against me. 

This was far too easy. He was always so strong and controlling and untouchable, but here he was, broken down like putty in my hands. 

“Give it to me, Zac,” he whimpered, shaking strands of wet hair from his eyes. 

“No,” I said firmly, almost calmly, as I threaded several fingers through his hair and tugged lightly in a way that seemed to drive him crazy. 

My mouth was on his neck, words pulsing against his collarbone. Where this sudden burst of dominance had come from, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want to ever let it go. 

“I won’t do another fucking thing until I hear you beg with that dirty mouth of yours.”

He moaned but didn’t speak, swaying and grinding his hips in such an agonizing rhythm that I had to fight to maintain control. He was so ridiculously sexy. I moved my lips to his ear and pulled on his hair again, this time with force.

“Beg for me, Taylor,” I repeated.

“Fuck me,” he whimpered breathlessly as I pushed his body even closer to the wall so that he was trapped against it. “Please…”

“What?” I asked, my fingers curling tightly around his bicep, pressing the tip of my dick roughly against his ass but not allowing either one of us the pleasure of sliding all the way in.

“Fuck me… please, fuck me.”

His words were loud and desperate and I breathed in deeply, feeling suddenly dizzy from the relentless spray of the shower and the tiny drops of water that clung to every inch of his skin. I exhaled at the very same moment I entered him. He was so hot, like fire around me as I drove into him violently, going deeper than I thought possible.

“God Zac, get me off,” he pleaded, hands braced against the tile in an attempt to keep himself upright.

“No,” I replied again, tightening my already solid grip on his waist as I continued to thrust into him.

I refused to touch him, refused to please him, refused to give him what he so badly wanted.

He cried out as I fucked him ruthlessly, stubby fingernails scraping against the slick wall, desperate for something to hold onto as my movements accelerated and intensified. When I knew that I was close, I pulled out of him and pushed him to his knees, at the very edge of the seamless stream of water. With a few uneven strokes of my hand, I was gone, unloading into his mouth as I bit back wild obscenities. Spurt after spurt flowed past his waiting cherry red lips, and he silently took it all.

I stepped out of the shower then, my chest still heaving, my entire body dripping with water and stamped with pieces of him. They would fade in time, I knew that much, but I didn’t want them to. The truth was that it hurt to leave him, but I couldn’t bring myself to face that certain, terrifying fact.

So I walked away and let the cloud of white-hot steam envelop me.

I didn’t dare look back.


	4. The Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“When you put clothes on, you immediately put a character on. Clothes are adjectives, they are indicators. When you don't have any clothes on, it's just you, raw, and you can't hide.” - Padma Lakshmi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is from Taylor's POV.

**Taylor**

It started out as an accident. A stupid drunken slip-up.

I really had no intention of pushing him onto the bed and going down on him after that crazy party a few weeks ago, but the tequila in my system convinced me that it would be fun.

That was all it was ever supposed to be. _Fun._

And for a few minutes—or days, if you want to get technical—it actually was. I loved getting under his skin, watching him squirm, and knowing just how much he wanted me. Zac was always so reserved, so very detached and distant, and the fact that I had power over him gave me an undeniable thrill of victory.

But I hadn’t won at all. 

Somewhere along the way the tables had turned, our roles had reversed, and I hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. When Zac joined me in the shower that day, I truly thought we were still playing the same game, but little did I know, the rules had changed. I’d lost the upper hand and he was the one pushing me down, making me beg, exercising his strength and control over me.

I probably shouldn’t have liked it.

What he did to me was cruel, degrading, and humiliating. But it was arousing all the same.

Maybe my core was much darker than I cared to admit. Maybe I liked being used and exposed. Maybe I liked feeling cheap. To be brutally honest, I wasn’t all that bothered by how he’d treated me physically. No, the most upsetting part of our shower exchange was the way he drove his angry emotions into me.

Zac had never been good with words—not the spoken ones, anyway—so I knew that his true feelings were buried in his actions. Each frustrated thrust of his hips threw another piece of the puzzle at me, and by the time he left me in the shower, painfully hard and alone, I had no choice but to stare at the messy portrait of torment that I’d apparently forced him to create.

He stopped talking to me after that.

When we passed each other in the hallway of the house that we both lived in, he looked directly at me but didn’t even seem to see me. I was dead to him; he’d shut me out completely. So I tucked myself away and kept my distance.

I wasn’t expecting company, so my heart jumped into my throat when my bedroom door creaked open just past midnight, the smallest sliver of light following Zac into the room and disappearing as he closed it. He approached me slowly, his bare chest heaving with every hesitant step.

When he perched at the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, I could hear his labored breaths.

“Taylor?” he asked softly.

I didn’t respond with words, instead rolling onto my side so that I was facing him, my eyes finding his in the almost total darkness.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I sat up and studied his face, shocked by the remorse etched into nearly every single one of his features. He’d been such a closed book to me lately that I had no idea what was running through his mind. If anything, his cold, empty stares were enough to make me believe that he hated me.

I certainly hadn’t expected him to _apologize_. Zac Hanson didn’t do apologies. He was too stubborn to ever admit he was anything but right. 

“I shouldn’t have done that to you… in the shower,” he continued, as though it might not have been clear to me what he was referring to, each syllable an evident struggle as his raspy voice carried them. “You didn’t deserve it.”

“Maybe I did,” I countered quietly, delivering my own admission of guilt in this strange and dangerous game.

“No,” he insisted, shaking his head, his eyes flashing darkly. “Use _me_. Hurt _me_. _I_ deserve it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, leaning forward and grabbing his arm so that his gaze remained locked with mine. The words that left my mouth next were much softer but still filled with honest intent. “But I do want to fuck you.”

He trembled, a beautiful paradox as he somehow tensed and relaxed at the same time. 

“Can I fuck you, Zac?” I whispered, my lips hovering just above his ear but not quite touching the skin.

He nodded, his arousal clear to me not only from the desperate sigh that left his mouth, but from his cock that strained against his thin, patterned boxers. I fumbled around in my bedside drawer for the lube that we’d definitely be needing, smiling to myself as I caught sight of him slipping out of his shorts from my peripheral vision. I tugged my own boxers off and threw them to the floor, applying a generous amount of the cool liquid to my already unbelievably hard length.

Zac’s eyes followed me, glued to my every motion, pinpricks of fear swallowed up by even greater waves of excitement. I blinked through the dizzy haze surrounding me, reached out and pulled him closer.

It suddenly didn’t feel like a game anymore—it felt _real_. And we were both finally ready.

I slid into him slowly, each inch that he took from me bringing me to a new height of passion. He felt hotter, tighter, _better_ than anyone I’d ever been with before.

“Is this okay?” I asked as I fought to keep my breathing steady, trailing my finger down his chest.

He clung to my hips and nodded. 

“Keep going,” he moaned.

“Oh fuck.”

My head fell back as I drove into him even deeper, fingernails scraping against his burning skin.

“More,” he pleaded, his hand wrapping around his dick and stroking in tandem with my thrusts.

I pushed myself all the way in, still holding onto what was left of our modest rhythm, determined not to come too quickly. But the throaty growls that pulsed against my collarbone were enough to trigger my own animalistic cry. It was like we were both animals in the moments that followed, overtaken by pure carnal sensations as we slammed against each other, flesh pounding flesh, our strangled voices disrupting the stillness in the air. 

“Zac,” I warned, my face so close to his that our foreheads were practically touching. 

Beads of sweat painted his flushed cheeks, adhering to the stubborn strands of hair that were always in the way.

I came only seconds before he did, his muscles contracting around me and spiraling me into another dimension of pleasure. He clenched both hands tightly around my wrists as he cried out and shuddered against me. When things finally slowed down, when the world finally stopped spinning, we collapsed into each other, falling across the bed in a display of satisfied exhaustion.

When Zac crawled beneath my covers and made himself at home between my sheets without waiting for an invitation, I smiled. 

It was nice to have my brother back.


	5. The Elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“When you put clothes on, you immediately put a character on. Clothes are adjectives, they are indicators. When you don't have any clothes on, it's just you, raw, and you can't hide.” - Padma Lakshmi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is from Zac's POV.

**Zac**

Taylor had always been a total klutz.

If it were possible for a baby to trip on the way out of his mother’s womb, then my older brother surely would have found a way to do it. Most of the time, he lived in his own little world, blissfully unaware of his surroundings and confident that no harm would ever come his way, leaving it up to other people to look out for him.

Needless to say, that person was usually me. 

Over the years, I’d developed a particular talent for anticipating all sorts of Taylor-related accidents before they happened. I routinely checked the oven once he was finished cooking to make sure he had turned it off (nine times out of ten, he hadn’t), and I’d caught him before he slipped and fell onstage more times than I could count.

And yet, I was still entirely unprepared for the day Taylor broke the elevator.

I don’t know how it happened. I was too busy staggering beneath the weight of half a dozen overflowing grocery bags. Did Taylor actually need an entire loaf of French bread, five different types of cheese, two pounds of sausage and an assortment of organic wines for that night’s dinner? Of course not. But when it came time to do to our weekly grocery shopping, Taylor’s eyes were even bigger than his… well, nevermind. That’s beside the point.

All I know is that when I stepped into the elevator to take us back down to the parking lot (whose genius idea was it to put a Whole Foods on the top floor of a shopping center, anyway?), Taylor pressed the little silver button marked ‘Level 1’ and, seconds later, was holding said button in the palm of his hand, regarding it as though it were a foreign creature. 

“Oops,” was all he said as he gave a sheepish shrug.

With a sigh, I set down the ton of bricks… er… I mean, grocery bags, and attempted to reattach the button. But I was a drummer, not a fucking handyman. I was just about as useful as Taylor was when it came to fixing things (which is to say, not very).

After several fruitless attempts, I gave up and started frantically jabbing the circular cavity where the button used to be. When that too proved to be unsuccessful, I slammed down on the red button reserved for emergencies no less than ten times in a row.

Like I said, I was a drummer, which meant that when all else failed, I had absolutely no problem resorting to plan B: beating the living hell out of things. 

“I could be wrong, but I don’t think that’s helping…” Taylor remarked from behind me.

I spun around to face him, my frustration mounting when I saw how completely unperturbed he looked. He brushed an errant lock of hair from his forehead and caught my gaze, a self-satisfied smirk dangling from his parted lips.

How could he stand to be so calm at a time like this? He didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by the fact that we were stuck in an elevator with no apparent way of getting out.

Then again, Taylor wasn’t claustrophobic. I was. 

Thanks to being in a touring band, I had mostly learned to conquer my fear of being trapped on airplanes and other modes of transportation, but I still couldn’t handle being locked inside of enclosed spaces for any length of time. Once I realized that pressing the ‘panic’ button hadn’t done a damn thing—that nobody was coming to our rescue anytime soon, or quite possibly, _ever_ —anxiety crashed over me like a tidal wave, making my entire body tremble as I broke out in a cold sweat. 

“Fuck you,” I spat. “I don’t see _you_ trying to find a way out of here.”

He shrugged again, leaning casually against the wall. 

“Maybe that’s because I don’t want to,” he said.

_Are you insane?!_ I nearly shouted.

But why bother asking a question I already knew the answer to? Taylor was as crazy as he was clumsy, ruled by impulse instead of reason. Without warning, my mind jumped back to the very first time we messed around—when Taylor had pushed me down onto the bed and sucked me off after that wild party I never should have gone to in the first place.

He had set something both dangerous and unstoppable in motion that night, and it led to him forcing me to go down on him in a dressing room all those weeks ago. And then, we wound up fucking… not once, not twice, but _three_ times.

The power that he had over me was disgusting.

It had been several months since we last fooled around, and I was beginning to think nothing would ever happen between us again, but that didn’t stop me from thinking about how good it felt to be filled by him, our bodies fused together in an intimate embrace that felt as right as it was wrong. I was helpless against the arousal that pulsed through my veins whenever he moved in too close, much like he was doing now…

“You know what we haven’t done in awhile?” he asked, taking a few more steps toward me, his eyes still holding mine.

I shook my head wordlessly, forgetting how to breathe as he stepped in even closer. He continued making his approach until my back was pressed against the elevator doors, my heartbeat ringing in my ears like an alarm.

“This,” he murmured, grabbing a fistful of my t-shirt and crushing his lips against mine.

So, I know I was just talking about my older brother’s clumsy ways, but I probably should’ve also mentioned that Taylor can be _insanely_ precise when he puts his mind to it.

Take, for instance, that life-altering day in the busted elevator.

You might think I’m exaggerating, but it really did change my life in a way that even surpassed the day I was given my very first drum kit. Before that afternoon, I was just your typical horny twenty-something, desperate for a place to put his dick. I understood lust, but _love_ was an entirely foreign concept, like a highly respected but equally daunting epic novel that sat neglected on a bookshelf, gathering dust.

What was I saying? Oh, right. Taylor was nothing if not full of surprises.

I feared for his life (not to mention those of his unfortunate passengers) every single time he got behind the wheel of a car, because he set his own speed limits and never failed to multi-task while driving. It wasn’t uncommon for him to loosely grip the steering wheel in one hand and a Muchaco in the other, all the while attempting to talk on his phone.

He was much better at playing God than he was at acting like a normal human being.

But if you caught him at just the right moment, you’d find that he’s one of the most stubborn, passionate and focused people out there. When he sets his mind on attaining something, he’ll stop at nothing until it’s his.

And on that particular day, his conquest of choice just so happened to be _me_. 

Having not kissed him (or anyone) in weeks, I was fully unprepared for the feeling of Taylor’s slightly chapped lips against my own, his tongue slipping into my mouth without an invitation. My head already spinning from the fear of being trapped, I grew even dizzier as he slid his hands beneath the fabric of my shirt, his palms moving swiftly up my bare chest.

Was the elevator on fire? Because I felt like I was burning, the flames dancing along every inch of exposed skin. When he seized my nipples between his teeth, baring down on them one by one, I honestly believed I might die right then and there, reduced to a pile of ashes on the floor.

“Relax,” he murmured, his breath hot and sweet against my lips, tasting like the cherry-flavored candy he’d sampled in the grocery store.

But how could I possibly relax when he was so close, when I could feel his unmistakable erection through his skintight jeans and see the desire blazing in his eyes?

He peeled my t-shirt away from my body with ease, tossing it somewhere behind him, before unthreading the buttons through the holes of my jeans with the same effortless precision. Then he trailed his index finger from my navel to the flimsy elastic waistband of my underwear.

“Want me to suck your cock?” he asked, dropping to his knees.

I groaned as he tugged down my jeans and boxer-briefs in one effortless motion without waiting for an answer. I’d been dreaming about this day ever since he’d gone down on me in the bedroom all those months ago. I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I’d gotten off to the memory of his skilled lips wrapped around me, his cheeks painted with a dark, alluring blush as he moved up and down my length.

People had been calling Taylor _beautiful_ and _gorgeous_ for as long as I could remember, but I never truly understood what they meant until I was graced with the breathtaking sight of his cheeks hollowing out, his eyes fluttering closed as he took me in as deeply as he could. 

When he grabbed my hips firmly, his tongue darting out to tease the underside of my shaft, I arched toward him instinctively, unable to contain my body’s strong reaction to his touch.

God, it was so wrong to want him like this, but he was the one who’d started it.

He’d bent the rules to nearly every single game we played as children, and that rebellious streak had followed him all the way into adulthood, turning him into the most dangerous sort of temptation—the kind that was impossible to resist, no matter how badly you needed to or how hard you tried. And yet, he was my _brother_. He sang Queen songs in an obnoxious falsetto at the top of his lungs just to piss me off, and he poured orange juice into my cereal instead of milk because he knew I couldn’t stand the taste. 

Most of the time, I was five seconds away from bashing his pretty head into the nearest hard surface, but in that moment, all I wanted to do was thread my fingers through his hair and urge more of his mouth around me.  
“Was that a yes? I couldn’t quite hear you…”

He paused and cocked his head to the side, sporting a look of mock confusion that was just as adorable as it was infuriating.

“Yes… fuck, yes.”

When his mouth descended on almost the entire length of my cock without warning, my head collided with the wall with enough force to make me see stars, but I didn’t care. I was already seeing them, anyway. For as high as I felt, I may as well have been on Mars.

“Zac?” The single word pulsed through my veins, keeping time with my frenzied heartbeat.

“Yeah?” I somehow managed to choke out.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he promised in a gravelly whisper, rising slowly to his feet. “Right up against these elevator doors.”

Taylor had been perfecting the art of distracting me from my fears since we were children. At the Halloween parade downtown just after my fifth birthday, the crowd closed in on me and threatened to swallow me up, but Taylor didn’t give me time to panic. He hoisted me onto his shoulders and took off running through the sea of costumed strangers before the first tear even had a chance to fall. 

Eventually, though, _he_ tripped and fell—over his own feet, no less—sending us both careening to the asphalt. Taylor was dressed as Donatello that year, and he’d gone to elaborate lengths to make the outfit look as ‘authentic’ as possible; he’d even borrowed a purple scarf from our mother to tie around his neck for added effect. His padded turtle shell lessening the force of what would’ve been a nasty spill, I somehow still wound up with a lost tooth—but the pain took my mind off of what had gotten me so worked up in the first place. 

He was doing almost the very same thing now—only instead of giving me a surprise piggyback ride, he was offering me a much more intense and carnal sort of thrill by thrusting two fingers into me, his blue eyes burning deeply into mine.

“Jesus, Tay,” I mumbled, my voice breaking.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he murmured. 

It was a statement, not a question. He leaned in and pressed his lips to my trembling jaw, and the next words he spoke floated along a hoarse and breathy whisper, almost as if he couldn’t control them. If that truly were the case, then I understood the feeling all too well. 

“Mm, you’re so fucking tight...”

I may have actually whimpered when Taylor withdrew his fingers in a torturous manner that left me wanting so much more. While I struggled to salvage what was left of my composure, he thwarted my attempts by slowly taking off his clothes, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. Once he had stripped down to a pair of close-fitting black boxers that left absolutely nothing to the imagination (apparently, he was an exhibitionistic masochist who felt the need to not only show off his body, but cut off his own circulation with every single piece of clothing he owned, including his underwear), he knelt down beside the discarded grocery bags and began rummaging through them as though his life depended on it. 

I contemplated asking him what the fuck he was looking for when there were other (far more urgent) matters to attend to, but knowing Taylor, he wouldn’t have answered me anyway. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have even heard the question. When he zoned in on something, he tuned everything else out—it was like the rest of the world ceased to exist. 

Maybe that’s why I got such a spine-tingling rush of feeling whenever I was with him… because it seemed like we were the only two people left on earth. 

It was a strangely romantic thought—one that transformed into an undeniably fucked-up concept when you admitted that it had been triggered by your own brother instead of, say, a girlfriend. But I didn’t have a girlfriend. Lisa had grown tired of me, probably because my mind was never on her even when I was on top of her. It stung a little when she stopped returning my calls, but after a few days, my pride was restored and she was a forgotten thing of the past. 

Whereas Taylor was my past, my present, and quite possibly, my future. 

Maybe I was getting ahead of myself, but I was just being honest. I’d never given it much thought before, but the phrase "bros before hoes" suddenly made a lot of sense to me. Not that Lisa was a "ho" (I’d never actually used that word before, and never planned on it), nor was I delusional enough to believe that my "bro" and I were actually a _thing_ , but at least I had the comfort of knowing that Taylor would always be in my life in some way, shape or form. Which is more than I could say for Lisa, or any other girl I’d ever been with, for that matter. 

Fuck. See what I mean? Taylor distracted me so thoroughly that I was referring to Urban Dictionary as a resource while going on the world’s most pointless tangent.

Where was I again?

If I hadn’t been impossibly aroused, I would have laughed out loud at the sight of Taylor on all fours, pawing through our (mostly _his_ ) purchases from Whole Foods. The look of fixed concentration relaxed into one of triumph when he finally produced a bottle of expensive body lotion from the bottom of a bag. I’d given him shit for it in the store—not only because he’d spent at least fifteen minutes doing a meticulous sweep of their skin care products, but because the brand he ultimately decided to buy promised “maximum moisture”—but the joke was on us both in the end.

Literally. 

His boxers fell to the floor in one smooth motion, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he poured some lotion into his hand and proceeded to fluidly fist his erection. As he massaged his straining length, he reached down and casually slipped his index finger inside of himself… the very same finger that had been in _me_ just a few minutes prior. 

Whenever I thought I had Taylor figured out, he did something even dirtier and crazier to prove me wrong.

The moans that dropped from his parted lips bounced off of the elevator walls and rang through the air for ages. By the time the silence crept in and stole away the musical sounds, I was rock-hard and positively aching for release.

God, I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted _anything_.

“Can you keep a secret?” He moved in toward me until our cocks touched, his mouth brushing lightly but confidently against mine.

I nodded breathlessly.

“You’re all I’ve been able to think about,” he confessed.

Taylor’s admission not only brought alive my every nerve ending in wild anticipation of what was to come—it shocked the hell out of me.

My brother could have anyone he wanted. And he always got what he wanted.

Just the other night, he brought home an absurdly pretty girl and proceeded to have his way with her until the early morning hours. After dinner, they retired to Taylor’s bedroom to “watch a movie,” but it wasn’t long before their moans drifted down the dimly lit hallway and into my ears, causing my jeans to grow uncomfortably tight as I pictured what they were doing to each other behind closed doors.

So if he could have anyone, then why was he so hung up on me? Was it because he’d been a thrill-seeker practically since birth, addicted to breaking rules and narrowly dodging the inevitable consequences? Was it because he knew I hadn’t gotten any action in awhile? Was it because he loved watching me squirm? Or was it something much stronger than baseline lust that kept him coming back for more?

He silenced my unspoken thoughts by grinding his hips against mine in a slow, deliberate fashion while he nipped sensually at my collarbone.

“I fucked Molly in the ass last weekend,” he announced as though he’d read my mind, his fingertips dancing swiftly down my sides. “She’d never done it before and wanted to know what it felt like. I think she liked it.”

A cocky grin twitched around the edges of his mouth as he made a fist around his dick and guided it toward my entrance.

“Don’t worry—we used a condom,” he breathed before capturing my lips roughly with his own. “You’re the only one I ever want to be this close to.” 

His confession left me feeling lightheaded and weak in the knees. Taylor was an open book when it came to certain things—his physical appearance and his insatiable sexual appetite, to name a few—but in other select areas, he was almost impossible to read. I never really knew what was going on inside. Was he just messing with me, or did his words actually mean something?

The scarier question was this: Did I _want_ them to mean something?

He distracted me yet again by sliding into me with a smooth, forceful thrust of his hips. A groan erupted somewhere in the back of my throat and I tugged at his hair, pulling him in for another kiss.

“I thought about you the whole time I was fucking her,” he said as he rested his forehead against mine, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I pictured you naked and in bed, your hair still damp from the shower, your hard cock just begging to be touched. You started out slowly, playing with yourself, teasing your dick with one hand and pinching your nipples with the other. And then, once you were harder than you’d ever been and you couldn’t take it anymore, I imagined you riding a dildo like it was my cock, pushing it in deeper and deeper until you made yourself scream…” 

I unleashed a vocal moan, moving my hands down to his ass to draw him in even closer.

Sensing my desperation, Taylor placed both palms against the elevator doors and picked up the pace.

Tiny, translucent beads of perspiration formed along his browline and I fought the urge to lap them up and savor the salty sweetness. With his golden hair in disarray, his full lips slightly parted to let his jagged breaths escape, he looked so good that I wanted to devour him. 

“You came so fucking hard, exploding all over your chest and stomach,” he continued, curling his hand around my erection. “A few drops even landed on your lips and you licked them off, because you secretly enjoy the taste.”

“Ohhh,” I sang out helplessly, overwhelmed by a dizzying mix of sensations as my head fell back against the wall.

“You liked hearing about my little fantasy, didn’t you?” he asked, pumping me with newfound vigor, his eyes growing dark and cloudy with arousal.

“God, yes…”

“Maybe you should act it out for me sometime,” he growled in my ear.

“Fuck, Tay, I’m—,”

“Come,” he demanded. He swiped his thumb across the head of my dick as he drove into me even deeper, a sudden warmth filling me and making my head spin. “Come for me.”

My orgasm seemed to last forever, rolling waves of pleasure crashing over me and preventing me from coming up for air. When I finally surfaced, it was due to a startling jolt of motion that knocked both of us off-balance, sending Taylor to his knees. As the elevator lights flickered off, then on, and then off again, he took me into his mouth, his lips moving effortlessly around my length, his tongue catching every last trace of my release in the darkness.

Was he trying to calm me down and work me up at the same time? If so, he was doing a damn good job. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmured as he stood up, brushing several messy strands of hair from my eyes.

_So are you,_ I thought.

We reached the ground level just seconds after sharing one last, long, lingering kiss that neither of us seemed to want to end. By the time the lights buzzed back on, nearly blinding in their intensity, we were fully-clothed and waiting for the doors to open, grocery bags in hand. Bathed in a euphoric afterglow of what we had just done, my crippling claustrophobia couldn’t have been further from my mind. Truth be told, I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so relaxed, so blissfully content, so _free_.

But when we stepped outside, Taylor surprised me once more by heading back toward the shopping center instead of following me across the parking lot to the car.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

He spun around to face me, his blue eyes twinkling in the late afternoon sunlight.

“To convince the security guards to give me a copy of that awesome sex tape we just made,” he replied with a wink.


	6. The Birthday Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“When you put clothes on, you immediately put a character on. Clothes are adjectives, they are indicators. When you don't have any clothes on, it's just you, raw, and you can't hide.” - Padma Lakshmi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter is from Zac's POV.

**Zac**

The smell of baking wafted through my bedroom door and prodded my heavy eyelids open, causing my lips to curl into a smile.

The night before, I’d bailed Taylor out of a very sticky situation at a party and had requested payment in the form of cake. I generally didn’t care to make a big deal out of my birthday, but I’d always had a sweet tooth and Taylor knew exactly what I liked. Plus, as much as I hated to admit it, he really was a damn good cook.

Looking back, it shouldn’t have shocked me to catch my brother in such a compromising position. After all, I knew all about his sleeping around, and I also knew that alcohol weakened his already fragile inhibitions. Considering I’d watched him throw back five shots of Fireball and at least as many cans of PBR, I shouldn’t have been surprised to find him in bed with one of our married friends.

I probably should have interrupted them right away, especially since the guy’s wife was downstairs searching for him rather frantically, but I was transfixed by the way his lips moved around Taylor’s erection, as though he wanted to devour him. My knees almost buckled when Taylor yanked a fistful of his hair and demanded that he _take it_ , his voice a low, sexy growl as he continued to rock his hips against his mouth until he came. 

I never should have let things between them escalate to that point, but who am I kidding? If I had been drunk enough, I probably would have joined in.

Once our friend had swallowed all that Taylor had to offer, I cleared my throat loudly before walking away, allowing them the opportunity to make themselves decent before someone else walked in on them.

On the ride home, Taylor didn’t breathe a word of what had transpired in the bedroom, but he _did_ point out that it was past midnight, which meant it was technically my birthday and I deserved a present. But when he scooted in closer and placed his hand on my upper thigh, drawing tantalizing circles through the fabric of my jeans, I swatted away his advances and kept my eyes on the road, informing him that the only thing I wanted for my birthday was a homemade cake.

What I didn’t tell him, though, was that the mental image of him making a cake for me turned me on more than the actual dessert itself.

My hand drifted down to my morning erection at the thought of Taylor dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers as he slaved away in the kitchen for me. I imagined wandering downstairs to the sight of him slathering a freshly baked cake with chocolate frosting, pausing every so often to sample a taste. I could practically hear the sensual sounds he would make, his eyes falling closed as his tongue lapped up every last trace of sweetness from his fingers. Then, I envisioned bending him over the counter and taking him before letting him have me any and every way he pleased.

“Fuck,” I mumbled as I yanked open my bedside table drawer and rummaged through it until I found what I was looking for.

I’d never used a dildo until Taylor suggested it a few months back during our heated tryst in the elevator, but it had quickly become my favorite toy. It was the perfect remedy for all the times I craved the feeling of him inside of me but didn’t want to appear too desperate or needy. 

I coated it with lube before slipping two fingers inside of myself, Taylor’s name a whisper on my lips all the while. In my mind, it was his cock and not an imitation that I guided into my entrance just a few moments later. If I concentrated hard enough, I could feel his hot breath on my neck as he nipped at the sensitive skin there while he fucked me.

“Yes… oh god, yes,” I breathed, beads of sweat coming to life on my forehead as I picked up the pace.

I formed a fist around my length with my free hand and continued to pleasure myself, too wrapped up in the intensity of what I was feeling to notice Taylor’s silhouette as he appeared in the doorway.

For a few brief seconds, I stopped stroking myself in order to reach up and play with my nipples. I’d watched Taylor do the same thing to himself in the privacy of his own bedroom, and it was one of the fucking hottest sights I had ever witnessed. I loved the way he threw his head back, exposing the hollow of his throat as he pinched and twisted his nipples into points, his raspy moans bouncing off the walls and tunneling into my bloodstream. 

“Fuck…” I groaned, my hips arching off the mattress as I found my prostate over and over again.

Before I even had the chance to touch my dick again, my orgasm took hold of me and I cried out, grabbing at the bedsheets as blinding spots of color bloomed behind my eyelids. When my breathing eventually evened out and the blissful haze lifted, I opened my eyes to find Taylor staring down at me, a smirk on his full and upturned lips. 

“Looks like you just gave yourself one hell of a birthday gift. I hope you still have enough energy left for mine,” he murmured huskily.

Taylor’s blue eyes were dark with lust as he dipped his head between my legs and licked up what was left of my release. Then, he took the dildo in his hand and proceeded to lick that clean as well. When he leaned up and kissed me deeply, forcing me to taste myself along with the slightest hint of chocolate buttercream, I probably should have been disgusted, but I wasn’t. 

In fact, it only made me want him more.

If you thought that fucking myself with a dildo while fantasizing about my unbelievably sexy brother was a perfect, not to mention perfectly _satisfying_ birthday gift… well, you’d be right. But apparently, Taylor had something even better planned for me.

I barely had time to catch my breath, let alone get dressed, before Taylor took my hand and led me downstairs, his determined gait that of a man on a steadfast mission. Upon entering the kitchen, the enticing aromas of chocolate and cinnamon flooded my senses, my mouth watering at the sight of the delicious cake he had baked for me standing proudly on the marbled countertop. However, Taylor stopped me from digging into the gleaming, meticulously-frosted layers by guiding me to a chair at the kitchen table and encouraging me to sit. 

“I know you wanted cake for your birthday, so I made one for you. You can have all the cake you want later. But right now, it’s time for ice cream,” he explained, gesturing to the array of items arranged on the table.

Since Taylor simply wasn’t capable of subtlety, he had gone all out, creating a vast, impressive spread of sundae fixings that put bona fide ice cream parlors to shame. There were sprinkles, gummy bears, M&Ms, chocolate chips, white chocolate chips, miniature peanut butter cups and chunks of bite-sized Almond Joys (which just so happened to be my favorite candy). There was hot fudge, caramel sauce, whipped cream and at least four different flavors of ice cream: chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and butter pecan. There was also an ample assortment of fruit, including maraschino cherries as well as blueberries, bananas and strawberries.

It all looked so good that I didn’t know where to start.

As it turns out, I didn’t have to. Taylor made the decision for me by grabbing a spoon and dipping it smoothly into a dish of chocolate ice cream. Bringing the spoon to my lips, he allowed me a taste before letting the cold, creamy treat drip onto my neck and chest.

“What are you doing?” I asked, fighting to suppress a shiver as his tongue circled my hardened nipples.

“Making an ice cream sundae,” he murmured, his mouth trailing down my stomach as he spoke.

Kneeling on the floor in front of me, he reached for the hot fudge and caramel sauce at the edge of the table. After pouring a decent amount of both into his palm, he took my half-hard cock in his fist and began to stroke me. I was fully erect within seconds, unable to stop his name from escaping my parted lips when he slipped a sugar-coated digit inside of me without warning.

Once I was positively covered in caramel and chocolate, Taylor dripped one last teardrop of fudge over the head of my cock for good measure before leaning down and wrapping his lips around me.

Watching Taylor work his mouth around my length, eagerly lapping up every last trace of sweetness, may have been the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed. Which said quite a lot, considering all of the dirty and forbidden things we had done together in the last several months. Threading my fingers through his silky golden locks, I rocked my hips against him desperately, climbing closer and closer to orgasm as he continued swirling his skilled tongue around me.

When I breathlessly announced that I was close, Taylor surprised me by pulling away from me and deftly removing his boxers with his (mostly) clean hand. I gazed at him through heavy-lidded eyes as he rose to his feet, his lithe, naked form one of the most beautiful sights I’d ever seen. And when he planted a slow, burning kiss on my mouth and whispered a husky _happy birthday_ , my heart felt like a cage of butterflies, my trapped desires clamoring for release, needing to spread their colorful wings of feeling.

Bending at the waist over the kitchen table, Taylor made me an offer that I could not refuse, and I dazedly lifted myself from the chair and took hold of his hips, sliding into him with remarkable ease.

“Fuck, Zac,” he growled as he gripped the sides of the table, his head thrown back in ecstasy. “This is my gift to you. Don’t hold back. Fuck me. Fuck me as hard as you can.”

Considering how worked up I already was, his words were all the further prompting I needed to let go of my negligible self-restraint and push into him all the way. Tangling my hand in his hair, I moved against him with long, deep thrusts that caused him to sing out a melodic string of moans as he trembled beneath me.

White-hot stars danced behind my eyelids as I came for the second time that morning, and it wasn’t long before Taylor followed suit, shooting his load all over the table, decorating the ice cream and assorted toppings with precious pearls of his release.

Completely spent, I collapsed into the chair and pulled Taylor into my lap, giving him a soft, lingering kiss as I teased his hair with sticky fingers.

“Thank you,” I whispered, smiling against his mouth. “I can definitely say that’s the best birthday present anyone has ever given me.”

“Oh, there’s more where that came from,” he assured me, his eyes twinkling as he grinned back at me. “I’m planning on taking you out for a fancy birthday dinner tonight, and I’d like to buy you a brand-new outfit for the occasion. I think his calls for another trip to the mall—more specifically, the dressing room. Don’t you agree?”


End file.
